Descent into Darkness
by TaintedCaress
Summary: Harry has finally been pushed over the edge. All his friends have left him and the whole wizarding world is at his throat. So, what's a boy to do? Fall of course. Warning, will be a HD.
1. Chapter 1

**Descent into Darkness**

Written by Tainted Caress

Disclaimer: I do not own any one or thing of the Harry Potter world no matter how hard

I wish it. Sadly, they all belong to J.K. Rowling, the lucky woman.

Author Notes: Well, I just wanted to say that this is just the prolog or pilot of the story.

So read and see if you like it. It's only the beginning, it will get better I promise. Please read and review. So now, enjoy!

Chapter I…Prolog…

He stood before the mirror, gazing into a face that he knew not. The face of which he glimpsed upon was worn and torn, with bruises hinting at tragedies he wanted nothing to do with.

Although he tried to look away from the face, it was the eyes that captured his attention. Eyes that had seen death and lived to tell of its fortunes. They were as cold as ice, yet as dull as a rusty blade. No emotion showed in those eyes, nothing but a bleak coldness. The kind of cold that after it touches you it never lets go. A coldness that once it has you, not oven the hottest fires of hell can save you from its icy embrace.

The boy hated looking in the mirror. He hated to have to face the reality that the face starting back at him was his own. No amount of denial could change that fact, no matter how hard he wished it.

With a heavy sigh, the boy looked away from his reflection and began to look for a cleaning cloth. He knew from previous experiences that if he didn't get the cuts and scraps cleansed soon, they would become infected and hurt a hell of a lot more. And not to even mention how messy the puss and blood would become.

After he finally found a suitable cloth, he plugged the sink and turned the hot water on full blast. As the sink began to fill with steaming hot water, the boy looked in the cabinets for a first aid kit. Sadly, he knew just where to find it.

Opening the case, the boy pulled out the hydrogen peroxide and other such meds that he knew he'd need. Looking for the bandages, he realized that he had run out again. A soft flow of curses flew out of his mouth when he realized that he'd have to go without. But he wasn't too worried, it wouldn't be his first time.

The boy barely stopped the water in time before it overfilled. Gently soaking the hand cloth in the steaming water, the boy didn't even flinch when the scolding hot water bit at his flesh. Patiently the boy waited for the cloth to absorb the water before he lifted in from the sink. Gently applying the still soaking cloth to the worst of his wounds, the boy closed his eyes as fresh wounds and burning hot wash cloth met. After the worst of the bite, the boy adjusted to the new level of pain and began to cleanse the wounds one by one. By the time he was done cleaning the wounds more than one wash cloth was stained red with his blood.

Knowing that he wasn't quite done yet, the boy went off to his room in search for something that might substitute for bandages, carefully limping the whole way there. He found it in one of his old hand-me-down shirts, compliments of his "loving" family. Although the shirt wasn't exactly the cleanest of things, it was all he had. Everything else was much worse for where. Carefully the boy ripped the shirt into ribbons and wrapped the filthy rags around his wounds. Tying the ends is a loose knot; the boy looked over his handiwork and gave a simple nod of his head. It would have to do. He didn't have the time of energy for anything fancier.

Carefully making his way back into the bathroom- quiet so as not to awaken certain people of the household- the boy began to clean up the mess he made, flinching here and there when he moved to quickly. Picking this up and tidying that, the boy realized that the wash cloths were done for. Not even the toughest of bleaches would get the blood out of the once pearly white towels.

_Oh well,_ the boy thought as he eyed the cloths. _More bandages for me next time I guess_.

Picking up the stained towels, the boy made sure that the bathroom was just as spotless as when he first came in. His aunt was very picky when it came to her bathing area. The boy shuddered when he thought about how his aunt would react even if she saw the tiniest speckle of blood on her beautiful limestone tiles. God forbid such a horrible thing to happen. A small chuckle escaped his lips as the boy imagined that particular scene.

After inspecting every detail in the room, the boy finally decided that it was good enough. Maybe his aunt would wake up late and he'd have a chance to clean it up better in the morning. Or at least the boy hoped so anyway.

Turning off the light and closing the door quietly behind him, the injured boy slowly made his way back to his room. Dispensing the used wash cloths under his bed-safe keeping and whatnot- the boy walked/limped over to the window and looked beyond the bars of his prison and into the world below. The moon was almost full, but a few days away. That's why the boy could see everything so crystal clear. Each and every house was sound asleep, the lights and sounds having died hours ago. It seemed no one was awake but him. But that was the way it was most nights, especially nights like these.

Closing his eyes, the boy couldn't help but wonder. Wonder what if. What if anything, anything in the world could have been different then the way it really was. What if his parents had never died? What if he never had to live here? What if he could have had a real life? Hell, even what if someone had just loved the orphaned Tom Riddle? It was useless to think of these thoughts, but sometimes he just couldn't help it.

Turning away from the window and the endless possibilities hidden beyond the bars, the injured boy tiredly made his way to his bed. Suddenly a weariness crept into his whole body, making him almost collapse right there on the spot. He felt like he hadn't slept for weeks. Which was probably true, knowing his luck.

The boy was so tired that he almost missed dropping his glasses on the night table next to the bed. But maybe Lady Luck did smile on him tonight because the glasses landed gently on the table without breaking or falling off the edge. But in the long run, Lady Luck must be looking the other way when it came to the rest of his life.

Climbing carefully into his bed, the boy tried not to disturb and of his numerous wounds. Sadly though, Lady Luck had already shined on him tonight. Many of his wounds were jostled when he climbed under the blankets. It felt like a fire was eating him alive, devouring his body and breaking his spirit.

After finally getting settled, the boy tried to focus on anything other than the pain. He really hoped that they hadn't started bleeding again. He knew that if they did, they'd just bleed through the night. Now that he was in bed, he wasn't moving again.

Tragically though, the boy could feel the blood begin to seep through his shirt and into the bed. He should have known that those would bleed. He really wasn't able to wrap or cleanse the wounds that well; they were on his back after all. He knew from experience that the wounds on his back would take a long time to heal, and never truly heal either. The scars a whip leaves never really fade. They just stay there and silently scream of pain and suffering. Screaming of horrors you can imagine not, and pain of which the likes you've never known. Only eyes as haunted as his would know of it.

Finally after much turning and repositioning himself, the boy found a position that didn't bother the whip wounds he had to badly. The worn and torn boy finally closed his eyes and gave into the darkness that had been threatening him for hours. The last thought he had before he passed out was about blood stained limestone and crimson wash cloths. Then his mind went blissfully blank and darkness engulfed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Descent into Darkness**

Written by **Tainted Caress**

Disclaimer: Tragically, I own not but my car and all the crap in it. Harry and Draco are

sadly not mine.

Author Notes: I just wanted to thank everyone who reviewed! Thank you all. This is

kind of a small chapter; I felt a bit lazy and decided to end it here. I'll try and get the next chapter out and really get into the story. So, without farther ado, I present the next chapter…

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**Chapter II…Home sweet home…**

Something in the early hours of morning woke him. The boy didn't know for sure what it was. Without thinking, the boy began to stretch. But that proved to be a big mistake. Instantly his wounds flared to life again. The pain was maddening, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. Sadly, he'd had worse amounts of pain in the past.

Blinking away the sudden pain, the boy began to study his wounds and try to decide how bad they were. The cuts and abrasions on his wrists had started to bleed a bit again. But they didn't look life threatening. The bruising had swelled and darkened. But that was ok too. Again neither would kill him.

Next to look at was the many bruises on his torso. There were bruises of all shapes and sizes, and even colors too. The fresher ones embellished his flesh in shades of indigo, while the older ones in sickly shades of green and yellow. Looking over the bruises, he decided that nothing could be done for them now. So, he went on to the many other wounds.

Mixed in with the bruise on his chest and stomach, was some bite marks here and there. Most of them where just the impression of teeth. Some of them had left bruises and other trails of blood. But the boy quickly overlooked those specific wounds. He didn't want anything to do with them, or remember how he got them. He was happy in his world of denial that kept his sanity at bay thank you very much.

So, the boy bypassed the bite marks and moved right to the cuts and scrapes. There were also just random cuts here and there. Those wounds were from a knife. The boy betted that if he looked all the knives over, one or more of them would have blood stains on them.

Trying to pull away from such thought, the boy then focused on the worst of his wounds, his back. Although he couldn't see the damage, he could feel it. He knew that the wounds had been jostled open again, if the blood running down his back was any indication. They stung and burned. And he knew that they would continue to do so for a very long time. Especially since he couldn't get anyone to properly cleanse and wrap them. He could only hope that maybe they wouldn't get infected too badly.

A muffled shout dragged the boy out of his morbid and depressing thoughts. Although the boy could make out what was shouted, he knew all to well what the voice had said. It was his uncle yelling at him to wake up and make breakfast. It was always the same wakeup call day after day. Today wouldn't be any different just because he was injured. He'd just have to make due and hope that he didn't re-injured himself. Or bleed on the food, both would be pretty bad.

With a tired sigh, the boy dragged himself out of bed. He just had a feeling that today was going to be one of t_hose_ days. The kind of day you dread but can't help but have.

"Maybe it won't be that bad," the boy said softly to himself. "Then again, maybe it will."

Awkwardly the boy made his way to the bathroom. Maybe he'd have to time to clean up a little. Hopefully. His limp was worse than it was last night. All the muscles that become stiff through the night and now were protesting his use of them. The boy knew that he wouldn't last long today, weeks of beatings and starvation where finally taking there toll. He could only wonder how long he would last.

The boy felt like doing a victory dance when he finally made it to the restroom in one piece, minus some blood specs here and there. As he closed the door, for the millionth time he wish the door had a lock on it. But unfortunately he wasn't that lucky.

_If you ask me, Lady Luck just hates my guts. _The boy thought with a humorless chuckle.

Limping straight to the toilet, the boy took care not to look in the mirror. He knew he probably didn't look all that pretty. He just didn't want to face the facts yet. It was too early in the morning for despair.

Taking care of his business, the boy then dragged himself to the sink, again avoiding the mirror. He turned the water on full blast and watched nonchalantly as it filled the sink. Getting it at a nice level, the boy turned the water off. Taking a deep breath and counting slowly to ten, the boy then gently dunked his head in the still steaming water.

Fire ripped and tore at his face. The pain that he thought he had suppressed came back a thousand fold. Millions of needles stabbed into his skin, or that was what it felt like anyway. It was all he could do not to scream at the pain.

When he tasted blood in his mouth, the boy unclenched his jaws and watched as the blood dripped from his punctured lip. Apparently when he bit his jaws closed he bite his lip in the process. But he didn't care. The blood just meant that he didn't scream. That was the only good thing that came form all this.

The cuts and bruises on his face screaming a protest. The boy just ignored the pain though. Instead he just blanked his mind as he held his breath. Opening his eyes, all he saw was red.

_Must have been bloodier than I thought. _The boy thought as he tried to see through the read haze.

Closing his eyes again, the boy tried to think of anything but the blood and the pain. Dimly the boy realized that he had been holding his head under the water for a very long time. He knew that he should probably bring his head up for air soon, but some part of him hesitated.

It would be so easy for him to just keep his head under. Just to embrace the darkness. Just a few more seconds, that's all it would take. Then all of his problems would be over. He'd finally be free. Free of everything.

But deep down inside of himself, he knew that he couldn't do it, not yet anyway. Too many people were relying on him. Too many people needed to be saved. He couldn't give up, not yet anyway.

So with a tired sigh, the boy lifted his head out of the water and embraced the bitter breath of life. The sweet yet bitter oxygen burned as it went down his throat. Still he greedily swallowed the invisible salvation. Life was but a breath away. How he loathed it.

Grabbing the nearest towel, the boy began to wipe his face off, silently praying the whole time that no blood came off with the water. Gently wipe his face, he flinched when he rubbed too hard on some of the wounds.

He knew that the wounds had to be cleaned daily. Besides, this was just one of those things. In fact, for our poor Harry dear, this was just another day of life.

_Yeah, welcome to the wonderful life of Harry Potter_, was the boys thought as he finally raised his head and gazed into the mirror.

A bright red face started back at him. Bruises marred the face, and tragedies haunted the eyes. His face of a collection of agonies. A bruise on the cheek spoke volumes about a backhand. The black and purple bruises on his lips screamed terror of the bite. Hand prints around the neck hinted at a chokehold. So many stories on the face. Yet all of them he wished to forget. But looking into those haunted eyes, he knew that even if the evidence healed and faded, it would always stay with him. Some wounds can heal, others can't. And the boy knew that he'd remember each and every story his face held.

The face that started back at him was still not one he recognized. But he finally accepted that it was his own. And the boy knew that he should tell someone about the abuse, to reveal the stories. But still a part of him hesitated. For deep down he knew that he deserved what he got. This was his punishment to failing all of those people. For killing all those people he loved. Sometimes, he wondered if the world would have just been better if he'd never been born.

A sad thought true, but a thought that haunted him nonetheless.

So it was with a bitter sign that the boy turned away from the mirror, and away from the stories he wanted naught to do with. This was his life; he just had to live with it.

"Boy! Where's our breakfast! What's taking you so long brat!" The shout broke the boy form his morbid thoughts yet again.

With a bitter smile, the boy tossed the wash cloth in the hamper and turned the light off as he passed. Still limping as he made his way down the stairs, the boy closed his mind and heart to the pain he was feeling. Thoughts like those would destroy him. And he needed to be as strong as he could so he could survive the rest of the summer. School was only a week away. He had to be strong. For what other choice was there?


	3. Chapter 3

**Descent into Darkness**

Written by **TaintedCaress**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters involved. The only thing

I own is the plot, that is all mine!

Author Notes: Hey, sorry this took so long to get out. Been kinda busy with work and

lazy on the side. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it. And please read and review when your done!

**Warnings: This chapter contains violence and non-graphic rape. Do not read if you **

**can't handle!**

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Chapter III…**Demons in the Night**…

Harry watched his uncle and cousin closely as they ate their dinner. Everything had to be perfect or else. And Harry rather wished not to think of the else. As he was standing beside the table, waiting on his family hand and foot, a pain began to spread throughout his back. He tried not to grunt in pain. The pain was nothing new; it was just becoming more and more of a hindrance.

The wounds on his back had become infected, the flesh swallow and bothered. Although he couldn't see the wounds well, he could feel them. And they felt hurt and angry, if that was possible. All he knew was that they hurt like a son of a bitch.

Harry stopped counting the bandages he went through, it was suffice to say he went through enough. He remembered trying to cleanse them and wrap them. Obviously that didn't work out well. They still got infected in the end. He just hoped they wouldn't get any worse before they got better. But knowing his luck, he was in for a lot more pain and agony.

Pain and suffering, his new best friends or old really. He'd had them for quite awhile. Sad but true, that was his life.

At least his many numerous wounds weren't as bad like the ones on his back. The bruises had faded for the most part, except a new one here or there. But those bruise were in places that usually couldn't be seen.

Most of the scrapes and scratches were healed as well. The bites marks were thankfully almost completely gone. Thankfully his uncle had decided to go easy on him the past week. Thank god for small miracles.

All and all, he wasn't to bad off, just had to keep an eye on his back really. Things were looking up for Harry Potter. He just had to survive one more night in hell then he'd be on the train to Hogwarts. Life was good.

The sound of shattering glass broke the boy from his thoughts. Looking at the floor, the boy was annoyed to see the remains of a plate. Not even needing to look to see who the culprit was, Harry quickly went to get the broom.

After finding it in the closet, Harry returned and without even being told to, he began to clean the mess his cousin had made. The whole time his family just ignored his presence like he wasn't even there. He even heard his aunt mention how all the plates seemed to be missing these days. And of course somehow Harry was blamed for that too.

Rolling his eyes at the insanity, Harry made quick work of the glass. After dumping it in the garbage, Harry returned to his post as the family servant. Needless to say, dinner was excruciating for Harry. It was maddening watching his family stuff themselves silly, eating more than a fully grown elephant. Or that's what Harry thought anyway.

The waiting was killing him. His back was on fire tonight. At fist it wasn't too bad, but just as he was standing there it was getting worse. Most nights and days it wasn't so hard to ignore, just a simple buzz of pain that reminded him that he was indeed alive. But tonight it was different. Tonight what started as a simple ache was turning into something more. His back was on fire as the pain consumed his whole body. He could feel the sweat trickle down his body. He also kind of felt light headed, but that he could hold off pretty well. It was just the fire simmering under his skin that got to him.

He couldn't wait until they were done so he could clean up after them and then go crash in his room. He might even be able to get some sleep tonight. Wishful thinking on his part but hey, a boy came dream can't he?

Finally after what seemed like hours, the family began to get up and leave the kitchen. Harry was glad to see them go. What would even be better is if they just went away forever. Life would be so much better that way. Sadly though, that wasn't meant to happen. Again with the wishful thinking.

Harry made sure that they were gone before he started to dig into the leftovers. He wasn't suppose to be doing this, but he was hungry damn it! He hadn't eaten for days; he never could find the time to snick any food away. All he'd had was a little bite here and there. It was never enough.

After a few handfuls of food, Harry couldn't eat anymore. His stomach couldn't handle anymore. So he just scraped the food into the trash.

Running the water and plugging the sinks, Harry prepared to clean dished that night, just like all other nights. His family didn't allow him to use the dishwasher, so he had to do all the dishes by hand. Something about him breaking everything he touched. Funny that though, if he didn't use the dishwasher then who would? Sure as hell no one in this family, not when they had Harry to do all the work for them.

Starting with the dirty plates, Harry began to pill them onto the counter by the sink. Then so on and so forth until all he had left was a single glass cup of his aunts favorite chine set. By the time he had gotten to hear, a thick layer of sweat coated him. He was breathing very hard and couldn't stand very well. It was like all of his strength was just dripping out of his body through his pores.

So, he really wasn't in the right state to be doing anything so demanding. So, you really can't blame him when the glass slipped right through his sweaty fingers. Harry watched in slow motion as the glass fell to the floor. Almost like a wounded solider falling to his death. Harry watched in fascination as the chine glass fell to the floor and broke into a million little pieces.

_Just like me. A million little pieces all over the floor_. Harry thought as he watched entranced.

Harry was so wrapped up in the death of the tiny china piece that he never saw his family come into the room. He never heard the screams and cries from his aunt and never saw the fist that flew towards him form his uncle.

Feeling the pain as one or more of his ribs broke, Harry immediately went on the defensive. Hunching his shoulders, he tried to look as small as he could, while also covering any vulnerable spots that had yet to heal completely.

Never looking up, Harry silently waited for the blows to come. And he was not disappointed. Out of nowhere rains of blows landed on his already injured body. A punch in the stomach stole his breath. Another blow to his ribs leaving one or more busted if the breaking of bones was anything to go by. A punch on his shoulder left his whole arm numb. And a blow to his cheek left a trail of blood to run freely down his face.

Soon he was on the floor, and the blows just kept coming. Blow after blow landed on Harry, and yet he still just hunched in on himself and tried to hold thorugh the worst of it. Never once did he cry out. But that didn't last long.

A kick landed somewhere on his back, tearing a howl of pain form Harry. And after hearing Harry's wounded cry, his uncle fell on him like a hungry animal, riping up the flesh to devour it. Blows and kicks of all degrees soon found there way on his back.

If Harry thought that his back had hurt before, well then this defiantly changed his mind. It wasn't too long before Harry felt the blood running down his back, that and other things. Then finally after an eternity of hell, he mercifully passed out.

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That night when Harry dreamed, he didn't dream of what normal children dreamed of. He didn't dream of family lover or friends. He didn't dream of cars of quidditch. Hell, he didn't even dream of flowers or dandelions. But what he did dream of was very real.

Poor Harry Potter dreamed of death and destruction. He dreamed about innocence lost as monsters with the faces of men raped, killed, and plundered. He dreamed about a monster with red eyes as it ate and consumed everything it its path. Everything, living or not fell to this beast. No one was safe from it, not even its own minions. All fell to this monster.

But the worst part of all was the victims that fell before this monster. For some reason, before they all died, they all looked to him. As if he could help them somehow. And when they did die, it was him they blamed for it. As if he was the one who struck them down and murdered them.

All night long these nightmares plagued his dreams. And when he did finally wake, it was to a whole new nightmare.

It was with a scream that Harry woke up. His heart was beating so fast that he couldn't even begin to count the beats. Sweat drenched every inch of his body. And in some spots- his back- so did blood. Except for the scream that was still ringing in his ears, the night was silent. Everyone in the household was asleep, or so the boy thought.

But the boy didn't pay attention to anything but the horrible dreams he's lived through. The boy wished that that was all they were, dreams. But he knew that those dreams were more than just that. He knew that those people that were murdered were real people, and the things that happened to them were very real as well.

All those poor people were being murdered every night and there was nothing he could do. The helplessness he felt was crushing him. All he wanted to do was make it stop. Anything to stop the screams and cries. Anything to stop the accusing looks in the faces of the dead. Anything.

Silent tears tan down his face as he thought about the nameless victims. And all the time he couldn't help but blame himself for their deaths.

Harry was so distressed by his own demons that he didn't hear the door open and close. So engulfed if guilt and grief that he didn't hear it lock. He was so busy tearing himself to pieces that he never saw his uncle. And by the time he did, it was already too late.

The wounded boy tried to scream when he was his uncle, but his voice was trapped in his throat, unusable. So he could only watch in horror as his uncle slowly crawled onto the bed and towards him. Harry's heart almost stopped right then and there. He knew what was coming, he just didn't know how to stop it. All he could do was close his eyes and hope that it didn't hurt to much this time.

The quiet sound of a zipper being undone screamed in his ears. His body trembled in fear and tears streamed down his face. A harsh hand grabbed him by an already injured wrist and pulled him up. Harry tried to keep his eyes closed, but they opened anyway.

The sight that greeted him terrified him. His uncle had already done away with his pants and shirt, and all that were left was the boxers. Harry flinched when his uncle raised his enlarged fist. But instead of hitting Harry, the whale of a man grabbed Harry's pajama bottoms and tried to rip them off. When they wouldn't come off completely, he pushed Harry back onto the bed and did it with two hands.

Harry then closed his eyes as he felt first his bottoms slide off, then next his boxers. Knowing that he was in for a world of hurt some, Harry tried to blank his mind and fall into himself. Falling deep enough into himself, Harry just numbed his mind and body for what was to come.

So Harry never felt or saw what happened to him that night. Just like any other night Harry hid so deep into himself that he didn't become destroyed by the insanity and cruelty of it all. Harry deadened himself because some things not even God himself could deal with.

So when Harry finally woke in the morning, all he had for last nights demons was a few bruises and scratches here and there, and a deadened knowledge of how he got them.

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Waking up to a numb mind and body had it benefits. But those didn't last very long. Quickly his body woke up and seemed to remember that it was in pain. So again a fire spread throughout his body. But this time Harry didn't feel it as much. For even though his body came back to life, his mind and spirit still seemed numb and dead.

So he felt the pain, but he just didn't _feel_ the pain. The mind only feels what it wants too, and Harry's mind was cold and slumbering at the moment, so he was safe in his world of numbing hearts and broken souls.

Stepping out of the bed, Harry silently glanced at his bed, trying to decide whether it was worth it to save it. But seeing all the blood and other unmentionables, Harry decided to burn it the first chance he got. The sheets were beyond saving, way to much blood on them. He'd just have to go without again.

Ripping the sheets of the bed, Harry bunched them together and threw them beside the window. He'd take care of them later. Right now he had other things to worry about. Like his back for one.

Walking to the door was harder than he thought. Every time he took a step a different part of his body screamed in protest. But being in the state that he was, Harry did not even acknowledge the pain. He just kept walking.

Harry opened the door slowly and poked his head out of the door. Looking both ways, Harry found that the path was clear. Tiptoeing carefully, Harry slowly made his way to the bathroom. Thankfully he never met anyone on the way.

His family must still be sleeping. Good for him, he needed the time to fix up his back. And while he was at it, see how bad he looked. He could only imagine what he looked like with all the bruises.

When he made it to the bathroom, Harry quickly ran/limped to the bath and started to run the water. Finding a temperature that he liked, Harry quickly stripped off the rags he wore and climbed into the tub.

The water was heavenly on his wounds, all of them. It felt like to him that the water was cleaning much more than the dirt or the blood. In many ways, the water was cleansing every part of him. He didn't quite feel as dirty as he watched the pink water flow down the drain.

He knew that it was time to start on his wounds though. He had to get them really cleaned this time. So, Harry grabbed the soap and lathered himself up. Harry didn't even flinch when the soap got in his wounds. To him it was just a duty to be done. Just part of routine he had to do, another chore if you will.

Finally after endless minutes of cleaning and washing, he was done with his shower. Quickly stepping out of the shower, Harry toweled himself dry., gently mind you because of the wounds. The injured boy then found some suitable cloths in the hamper; hey they were better then his own, and put them on. All that he left off was the shirt; he still had to bandage the wounds there.

Finally done dressing himself, Harry gathered the courage to look into the mirror.

It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. His cheek was split open, but it was already scabbed over. His face was still a canvas of bruises new and old. But the newer ones he could blame on getting into fights with the neighbor's kids. The older ones though, he'd have to think of something for those. Regardless, he was pretty sure he could fool everyone, even the Slytherins.

Next he inspected his back, or as well as he could. He noticed that yes, many of the whip wounds had opened up again. Dried blood caked his back, flaking off here and there. Some looked better, almost healed. While others were not so lucky. Some looked down right nasty. But Harry just accepted it with little heart and began to really cleanse the wounds, and finally rewrap them.

After he was finally done, Harry put a shirt on, carefully trying not to bother the wounds. And hoping the whole while that they didn't open up and bleed again. He might be able to explain the bruise, but the blood would be a little bit harder.

Glancing at the clock, the injured boy saw that he still had plenty of time before he needed to be at the station. He was supposed to be on the Hogwarts express in almost three hours.

"Thank God for that…" Harry whispered as he thought about his real home. Or his home away from home.

Cleaning up after himself, Harry slowly made his way back to his room. Although he didn't hurt as much as before, parts of his body still ached and were stiff. But Harry just kept walking.

When he finally made it to his room, the boy gently closed the door behind him and prayed that his "folks" would still sleep for an hour or more. He really didn't feel like making breakfast today.

Harry then began to pack up all of his possessions, which sadly all fit into one bag. So, it didn't take him long to pack. He still had to wait for his uncle to unlock his trunk from the closet downstairs. His wand, books, and such were in it. God knows he'd need those.

Harry just hoped that he'd have time tonight to finish all of his summer homework he never got the chance to do. He might have a few days at the best. But that hopefully would be enough. He seemed to do well all the other years of school before this one. This one shouldn't be any different.

Listening carefully for his family to wake up, Harry heard them moan and groan almost an hour after he'd finished packing. The poor dear just sat on his bed and stared out the window the whole time. Quickly Harry rushed to the door and tried to listen to them. He needed to know what kind of mood they were in.

After a few minutes of listening, Harry was relieved. They weren't in a bad mood at all. In fact they seemed down right cheery. _Must be happy to see me go_. Harry thought as he opened and closed the door.

Walking downstairs was trickery than he thought. Certain parts of his body really didn't like moving that way. So by the time he got down all of them, his behind was three times as sore as when he'd first woken up. But he'd just have to deal with it.

Making his way to the kitchen, Harry made a quick and simple breakfast. He'd rather not test his family's mood today. He just wanted to get the hell out of here in one piece. And if a stupid breakfast would do the trick, then by God he's make one. But not before he made himself some quick toast and jam.

By the time his family stumbled down the stairs, the toast and jam were ancient history. He'd had those polished off minutes ago. And of course he cleaned away all the evidence. Harry felt pretty proud of himself. He loved to secretly "stick it to them". One of his past times really.

Finally his family lumbered into their seats and began to eat. Harry avoided looking at his uncle the whole time. Or anyone really. He just looked at the floor the whole time and prayed for the time to go faster.

Thankfully, before he knew it, it was time to head out. Harry watched joyfully as his uncle unlocked his trunk and threw it out of the closet. Well, dragged it really. That thing was down right heavy. And judging by the look on his uncle's face, he'd agree as well.

_Good, I hope that bastard broke his back or something! _Harry thought with a silent snarl. Alas, Harry hoped many things, and look how his life had turned out.

Harry Potter was just not a person Lady Luck smiled down or. Hell, probably didn't even know he existed.

But that was ok, because Harry was finally on his way to Hogwarts. He could forget about this whole summer of hell and just relax and heal. He'd also have friends to support him, although he never told them about the abuse. He shuttered to think what they would do if the ever found out.

Harry couldn't let anyone find out about the abuse. Because if someone saw it or knew about it, then they'd try and do something about it. Fix it somehow. But Harry really didn't want any of that. As long as only he knew about it, somehow it wasn't just as real. Somehow he could just push the abuse off into some tiny, dark part of his mind and never worry about it again until next summer. Somehow he could survive because he could still deny what happened to him. It was the only defense he had, and he'd be damned before giving that up.

Dragging his mind away from the depressing thoughts, Harry pushed, pulled, dragged, and cursed his trunk all the way to the car. After he finally had it in place, Harry leaned against the car for a breather. Although that hurt like a son of a bitch, he didn't think he opened up any of his wounds again. At least he hoped so.

Picking himself up, Harry waited for his uncle to come so they could lift the heavy bastard into the trunk. There was no way in hell Harry could lift that thing into the trunk!

Finally his uncle came and grabbed the trunk and began to lift it into the car. Harry quickly helped and soon the trunk was safely in the car. Harry quickly scrambled into the backseat. Never once did he look at his uncle.

Harry just sat there as his uncle climbed into the car and started it. When the car started off, Harry could breath again. He was so close to freedom he could taste the sweet air of it. He only had a half hour of a drive with the demon in the front seat, he could make it.

Nothing happened the whole way there. Not once did his uncle even try to talk to him. And Harry couldn't be more thankful. He really didn't want to deal with this. He just wanted out.

Harry was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he never heard or felt the car stop. When he finally looked around, Harry realized that they were at the station. Harry was about to get out when the doors locked.

A shiver of fear crept up his back as Harry's hand stilled on the door handle. Harry didn't look at his uncle, he just stayed still. A terrified gasp escaped him when a hand reached out and grabbed his own.

Harry couldn't help but look up. And the look in his uncle's eye stilled his heart. Such cruelty and loathing in those eyes. Harry couldn't look at them any longer, so he bowed his head.

"Now don't you go and tell anyone about our fun together. You know the drill. Tell anyone and I'll kill ya, you hear me boy?" Harry just nodded to the whispered threat.

"Good boy, now get ye going. I've got things to be doing. Out!" Harry didn't need to be told twice.

Harry climbed out the door as fast as he could. Even injured as he was, Harry would walk on fire to get the hell away from that man. Slowly forcing his limp into a stride, Harry dragged himself to the trunk of the car. Harry just gave a mighty pull and hoped the blasted thing came out. But no such luck.

Finally he gave up and had to wait for his uncle to get out of the car and remove it for him. The whole time Harry looked anywhere but at his uncle. So that was why he noticed the strange looks he was getting. Harry was used to the looks and whispers, but something didn't feel right about these. They felt cruel and malicious somehow. Harry didn't have the foggiest idea of why though.

A heavy thud distracted Harry though. Glancing over, Harry saw that his trunk was finally free of the bloody car. Harry silently thanked his uncle and walked over to his trunk. He didn't get very far when his wrist was grabbed again.

"Don't forget your promise. Not a word…" And with that the big oaf climbed in the car and floored it away.

Harry could breath again. Finally, he was free. Now, he just had to get to the platform. Walking over to his trunk, Harry quickly picked up the handle and began to wheel it away.

Harry noticed that the closer he got to the platform the more stares he got. He looked about him and tried to tell what was off. But he looked fine. Well, except his face. But why would they be malicious about that? What was going on?

Ignoring the stares and the many whispers, Harry just continued to make his way through the station. He was almost to the platform between nine and ten when he saw them. Harry's adopted family all stood around each other laughing and smiling at each other. Even Hermoine was there.

Harry just hid behind the pole and watched in the background as they joked with one another. He stayed back because he didn't want to ruin their fun and games yet. He knew that once they took a look at his face, they'd be all upset and concerned about him. Harry didn't want to do that yet, so he let them indulge in there fun.

Harry just smiled a true smile at the sight and then listened to them having fun. At first they just joked about their summers and how boring they were. Then they talked about their families. All too soon it was time to catch the train. But before they headed towards the barrier, Mrs. Weasley suddenly became stern. She looked at each and every one of them and started talking every seriously. Harry only wanted to listen to see why she changed so much when he heard his name being said. With wide eyes, Harry looked towards them and listened in on the conversation.

"Now, I want you all to stay away from him. You've all read the papers, that boy is going dark I tell you. And I won't have any of you hurt because of him. Stay away from him you hear me?" Harry watched in confusion as they all nodded their heads.

Harry was still trying to figure it out when they all ran into the barrier. Then Harry wondered if he'd heard wrong. Maybe they were talking about someone else. Yeah, that had to be it. Didn't it?

Harry shook himself out of those thoughts and made his way to the barrier. Again he tried not to limp the whole way. He thought he'd done pretty well so far. He was almost to the Weasleys when they noticed him.

He was about to say hello when their glares stopped him in his tracks. Confusion clouded his eyes when Mrs. Weasley just glared at him and cursed the very air he breathed. It was her screaming at him that frightened him the most though. The things that she was saying to him, about him. What the hell was going on?

"You stay the hell away from me you bastard child! And stay the hell away from my children! How are you…" Harry didn't caught the rest of what she was saying because Mr. Weasley had just stepped forward.

Harry was thinking that maybe Author was going to apologize for his wife. But Harry was shocked when Author only cursed at the boy as well. He even sheltered his wife in his arms as if she was in danger from the boy. Harry was beyond confused when they finally just walked away, cursing the whole time.

_What the hell's going on? _Harry could only guess at the answers and even those came up short. _Has something happened this summer while I was gone?_

Harry could only shake his head and watch as they walked away. Harry didn't have time to wonder though because he had a train to catch. Tossing the event aside, Harry just focused on getting through the barrier in one piece.

He wouldn't worry about the Weasleys until he had some answers. And he was sure that he'd get them on the other side.

Harry was about to step through the barrier when the screaming of his name caught him attention. Harry quickly turned around and was about to answer when a fist flew right into his face. His eye was unfortunately the target, so he was immediately blinded. The punch was so hard that it knocked him back into the barrier.

Harry tried to catch himself, but he just fell right through the barrier. And Harry didn't stop at the barrier, he just kept falling right onto the floor. After falling so hard, Harry just crumbled when he hit the floor. Unfortunately, he landed on the worst of his wounds. So, it really wasn't his fault when he blacked out. Even the great golden boy could only take so much.

The last thing he saw before darkness engulfed him was Ron's angry face glaring down at him. Then everything went black.


End file.
